


Odd Man Out

by SilverMiko



Series: Sight Unseen [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mary Takes the Piss at everyone, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes is not good with said feelings, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slow Burn, TSOT-compliant, Warstan Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMiko/pseuds/SilverMiko
Summary: Molly Hooper finds herself at John & Mary's beautiful wedding where murder is afoot, the hats are gaudy, and she's in the company of the man she can picture herself dancing with. Oh, and her fiancee is there too.Takes place around 'TSOT'.





	Odd Man Out

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I'll just write a few pages, she said. No big deal, she said. 16 pages later.....
> 
> Thanks everyone who has been sticking with this series!

He wondered how she was, the queen of Bart’s underworld. He’d been avoided her for weeks, giving her space, both of them space. It was easy to pretend he was busy with things; small cases, the wedding, and anything not required the morgue or the lab. Through the long winter he kept to himself, trying to pretend he didn’t notice her absence at the Baker Street Christmas party while she was out of town with _him_. Tried to pretend he didn’t miss her soft presence or bad puns, or those little observations of hers that always helped his experiments. She had seemed so radiant when he appeared in the locker room, and the day spent together solving crime had been...wonderful. But it couldn’t happen again for so many reasons least of all her engagement status.

She deserved happiness more than anyone else he knew, the woman who counted and who had endured so much in the course of knowing him and because of him. So he was giving her the space to be happy. Giving himself the space to sort himself out. It should have been easy; sentiment was a defect of the losing side and he had always repeated Mycroft’s words as a mantra. But lately it was feeling less like gospel and more like white noise.

Who knew resurrection would be so trifling?

After being gone so long, he wondered if it had been foolish to think everything could slide back into normal. Molly had moved on, John had moved on. And even though they were still there, it was different. Sherlock was trying to stay a few paces behind as the world had crawled forward. But it wouldn’t change the work, right? He and John would still be partners in crime solving, things weren’t going to change in the way Mrs. Hudson kept hinting. Molly would still help him, of course. Except his space in their lives wasn’t the same anymore.

But John had asked him to be best man, because Sherlock was in fact his best friend. That had, admittedly, left him stunned momentarily. Friends had never been something he easily acquired or sought. He had acquaintances, yes; Garth at Scotland Yard, Mrs. Hudson of course, Mike Stafford he supposed was a friendly sort and few former clients and people who owed favors, but friends were a rarity, a supposed luxury he never had much need for. It was easy to say it began with John, and assuredly that would be the sort of pleasantries he peppered his speech with at the wedding, but it wasn’t exactly his first brush with friendship. There had always been Molly Hooper, the one exception. No surprise, as Molly was generally exceptional. He found himself, in the odd moments, wishing he’d let her know that more. But then he shrugged the thoughts off, tucking them away. He wasn’t one to dwell on those things, usually. Before the fall, anyway.

And so he threw himself into planning the wedding, and Mary never had the opportunity to be a bridezilla when Sherlock was filling the role more than adequately. In truth he wanted it to be over and done with. Mary was clever and brave and in some ways like a nicer version of himself. She’d been exceptionally helpful when John was in danger and so he’d made room for her within Baker Street and his life. Not just for John’s sake, Sherlock actually did like Mary. And for some reason she liked him as well, and accepted him as a friend. It was still a strange feeling, not wholly unwelcome.

So when suddenly he found the topic of Molly coming up quite unexpectedly, on one average rainy Spring day at Baker Street, he was acutely taken off guard.

“So bridesmaid dresses…..hmmmmmmm,” Mary pondered out loud, tapping a pen incessantly against the desk while John puttered around the kitchen getting takeaway sorted and Sherlock meditated on other wedding details while sprawled on the couch in his usual clothes and dressing gown.

“Traditionally garb of questionable design and cut worn the women you’ve decided are not as good-looking by your estimates. Next question?”

“Sherlock, that’s not what I mean! Hard time picking a style, is all.”

“Lilac frocks, how hard can it be?”

“Harder than you think, mate, trust me,” John replied walking back in the room and dropping a carton of wonton soup on floor by Sherlock.

Mary gratefully accepted her order of dumplings, quickly popping one in her and making loud thinking noises as she chewed.

“What about Molly?”

“Molly Hooper?” John asked, surprised.

“Yes, unless there’s another Molly you lot happen to know. She’s been lovely the few times I’ve met her and I keep thinking I should try and make better friends with her. Besides, maybe she can be a second pair of female eyes for me.”

“Molly Hooper? Frumpy trousers and cardigans Molly?” John asked again, incredulously.

“Now that’s not very kind. I think she dresses quite sensibly.”

“And it’s not like you didn’t ogle her in that black dress during that one Christmas party,” Sherlock quipped from the sofa.

“I was not ogling! Just...surprised that she...that she looked…”

“Looked what?” Sherlock asked, enunciating each word.

“Nice, okay! Nice. It was a long time ago, Mary,” he said, glancing at her then back towards Sherlock, “And it’s like you didn’t notice either with those rather unkind deductions about her.”

“And I apologized, if I recall.”

Mary clapped a hand to her chest.

“Oh dear! Sherlock Holmes apologized to a woman. I think a feel the vapors coming on.”

“As you were saying,” Sherlock said pointedly, not appreciating being teased, “There’s nothing wrong with how Molly dresses. She’s a doctor, a position which requires constant practical dress but also comfort so really those frumpy trousers as you put it are the most logical choice. A choice you yourself make constantly. Also, she does work in a morgue and often in cold temperatures so naturally it makes sense for her to wear an assorted array of sweaters, which by the way, you aren’t exactly in a position to judge anyone’s sweater choices, John. You want to set up a female playdate, Mary, by all means.”

While she had been teasing, and that was nothing unusual for one Mary Morstan to do good-naturedly, what Sherlock failed to realize was that he had more than just her amusement now...he had her serious attention. So he was unaware, in that moment, of the quick series of deductions brewing in _her_ mind as he wasn’t paying close enough attention.

  


While John spent a few moments being affronted by the dig at his own fashion sense, Mary blinked and looked at Sherlock, really looked at him.

She might have only known him for a few months but there were a few things she’d gleaned about him straight away, and one of them was that Sherlock Holmes rarely apologized for his behavior unless it truly mattered and he rarely came to anyone’s defense. Except, it would seem, for Molly Hooper who, for all intents and purposes, he also seemed to be actively avoiding.

Well then.

“Fantastic! I’ll give her a ring in a bit and see if she’s game for a coffee date.”

“Go with Monmouth in Borough, it’s her favorite.”

“Duly noted, thanks!” Mary replied, lowering her face to hide the grin forming on her face.

“Mary, stop it,” Sherlock drawled, flopping over and fussing about more to face the wall.

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

“Your smugness right now is deafening.”

“Smug? Me? I just think it’s sweet what a good friend you are coming to Molly’s rescue.”

Sherlock then flung himself off the sofa, stomping towards the kitchen with his soup as his dressing gown trailed behind him like a vermillion cape.

“Call me when there’s something worthwhile to discuss. At least a seven and nothing less.”

John and Mary watched him continue to stalk down the hall and slam his door shut, and only then did Mary let herself snicker.

“Someone’s got a sore spot.”

“What? _Molly Hooper?!_ No way. Sherlock and women aren’t a thing. Well, exception of maybe The Woman, but she’s dead.”

“The dominatrix from your blog?”

“Her aside, I think you’re a bit off base here, dear.”

“Whatever you say, John,” Mary said, her lips further quirking to a side in thought.

Little did John or Sherlock know, that was the moment that cemented Mary’s plan to do bit of reconnaissance to properly size Sherlock Holmes up.

But first, Chinese food.

 

***

  


Molly accepted the cup of coffee Mary had graciously bought her, blowing through the lid as they walked along Stoney Street towards Bankside. It was the first sunny morning in ages, and Molly was grateful for Mary calling on her and getting her out and about and not doing something boring like laundry. They’d met a few times but Molly found John’s fiancee quite sparkling and amicable, fitting right in with the Baker Street lot, thankfully. Molly remembered how revolving door-like John’s previous girlfriends were, to the point where Sherlock stopped bothering to recall their names as it was uselessl info, but Mary was quite something to stick. Not just with John, who Molly was sure would be an eternal bachelor at the rate he went, but Sherlock not only remembered her name but seemed to be becoming quite the friend to her. It was good, that was good, and Molly commented as such as the strolled along coming towards the Clink.

“He’s not an easy sort, our Sherlock, is he?” Mary asked, more a statement than a question.

“Never has been in the all year’s I’ve known him, but he’s not as bad as I think he wants people to think he is.”

“Oh?”

Molly wondered for a moment how much she should say, but Mary was going to be very involved with Sherlock’s life and she _liked_ Mary. So, she started to think of her words carefully.

“Yes well, since you’ll be in the thick of it and you are a lovely person, at least I think so..”

“Why thank you! Back at you, Molly,” Mary said with a nudge.

“Oh thanks. But, well, Sherlock hasn’t really ever been good with people. It’s not something that concerns him usually, or rather, he tries very hard to make it seem that way. But he does seem to like you considering the evidence of him remembering your name and not deducing the crap out of you in that really annoyingly blunt way he does. I’m actually amazed he didn’t do it at first pass when you mentioned how you met, but then he’s also been an awfully lot nicer, for Sherlock anyway, since coming back so I think you’ll be okay.”

“Yea, I expected him to reveal the type of cat I owned three years ago or something supposedly embarassing that John had warned me he might do. But nothing. He’s been quiet on that front. Actually, he didn’t do that rude deduction thing to your fellow either, come to think!”

 _Because Tom is as normal as they come and nothing of note_ , her mind whispered, and she flinched at the unfair thought. Being nice didn’t make him totally milk toast, even if his idea of adventure was, literally, a walk through the park. She shook those thoughts, continuing her assessment of Mary’s situation.

“The big thing is he isn’t very good with change or dealing with feelings, especially his, so easing him into the wedding stuff and making sure he knows it won’t spoil solving crime with John will help a lot. My guess is he’s actively trying to avoid any idea that he’s worried about things being different with John and that he’ll have lost his partner in crime-solving.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem as the wedding stuff goes, he’s making it so I barely even have a chance to be a diva. Who knew consulting detectives made quite the wedding planners?”

“You’re joking,” Molly said, sipping more her coffee.

“I wish! I don’t think the forty-five minute lecture on the language of flowers was meant as a joke. To be honest it’s exhausting sometimes!”

“He’s distracting himself, is my guess. Trying to throw himself into this and not face that things will be different.”

“Not that different. I’m fine with John doing cases with him and all that. It’s interesting and I don’t want to change the fact that they’re best friends and well, sometimes I think Sherlock depends on John more than I do. Truth is, I’ve always been a bit more independent than even His Royal Nibs-ness Mr. ‘Likes Being Alone’ likes to think he is.”

Molly nodded.

“But Sherlock needs to be convinced. To be honest though, I’m not sure how much more advice I can give you here beyond that. He’s been pretty distant with me lately and I guess now I know why, he’s...”

“Sulking.”

“I was going to say processing…”

“Hmmm really it is sulking. Great practice for if John and I ever have any wee Watsons.”

“Yes, well like I said, haven’t talked to him much these days so all I can do is guess where his head is at.”

Molly tried hard to not sound like she was pouting, but it did hurt a bit that after being gone so long that suddenly Sherlock was giving her such a wide berth. If it was the wedding planning and trying to preoccupy himself she could understand that, but why not also pursue more of his experiments in the lab? It was ever since she brought Tom to Baker Street that it began, the same time John announced his engagement to everyone too.

She bit her lip. It would be so easy to chalk it all up to the wedding but even Molly knew it was a cheap excuse; that day solving crime, that moment in the hallway...everything had changed since then. They’d both been so vulnerable, so close yet still dancing around each other. Sometimes she could still feel the cool brush of his lips on her cheek. Were he any other man, she’d wonder if he was a bit jealous and nursing an unrequited crush. But he was Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes pined for no one, right? If only it was that simple. Still, if that was the case, very hypothetically speaking, well it served him right! Maybe now he’d know how it felt for once to be hung up on someone unavailable.

Christ, she shouldn’t even _be_ thinking of it like that.

“Perhaps it _is_ all too much change for him,” Mary began, “Me and John engaged. You engaged. Life having moved on while he was gone. Probably bruised his ego a bit that the world didn’t stop and wait for him.”

Molly laughed a bit at that.

“Sounds about right. But really, I think you’re better off getting more solid advice from John. I’m just…” Molly began, waving her free hand trying to think of the right word. His friend? His pathologist? The person who supposedly matters most whom he routinely ignores?

“The person who knows Sherlock Holmes the best.” Mary finished, a small smirk at the corner of her mouth.

“Me? Surely John…”

“John Watson knows the Sherlock Holmes that Sherlock wants him to see, the genius. Oh he likes to think he knows Sherlock best and that Sherlock belongs to him alone, but we both know that’s not true, don’t we, Molly? You know the man behind the Belstaff. I’d wager you probably see a side of him we seldom do. So that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Molly had stopped walking, turning to look out at the Thames. Her heart pounded and oh God, why did she feel so anxious!

“That’s...that’s really lovely of you to say, Mary. I’m not..I guess I’m so used to being an afterthought. When people think of Sherlock and those around him, I usually don’t rank very high in the ‘stories’. I mean it’s fine, it’s good that John rarely mentions me and that I get some anonymity, I have my own career to think of and all. It’s just, well, it’s silly. Nevermind, listen to me chattering on.”

“Molly Hooper, you don’t get enough credit. Any woman who could put up with Sherlock’s shit for nigh fifteen years must be someone amazing. I think you and I should be great friends, got to stick together against our boys sometime, right?”

“ Sherlock isn’t really ‘my boy’.”

“Ah sorry,” Mary said with a tilt of her head, settling her coffee cup on the cement bannister in front of them, “But John did mention to me, full disclosure, that at one point you did rather fancy Sherlock. If that’s a touchy subject though we can totally drop it and get back to the other matter of dresses.”

Molly sighed. John Watson and his big fucking mouth sometimes. She really was grateful that she was rarely in his blog, god knows what sort of tragic spinster figure he’d seen her as all these years, before Tom.

“No it’s...well it is what it is. Was. Despite better judgement I had feelings for Sherlock. He’s so bad with people sometimes, rudely deducts things and constantly acts like he’s above sentiment, but he can do the most extraordinary acts of kindness sometimes and doesn’t even realize it. Perhaps that’s what it was, really. Trust me, he was an awful prick at uni until the moment I realized he wasn’t.”

“And he is rather fit,” Mary added with a conspiratorial smile.

“God, he is. Sometimes it really is bloody annoying. Git knows it too, must pay a fortune on getting his clothes tailored so his buttons look an inch away from bursting off his shirts. But there is this one thing, where he instinctively unbuttons or buttons his suit jacket, right? Used to drive me mental in both good and awful ways.”

Mary chuckled. “Gosh, you had it bad. Shame he had to go and die, or, not die. And anyway, you got a rather nice lad now. Not all bad.”

“Yes, but wasn’t like I really had much a chance before.”

_Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper._

_You do count, you’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you._

_...Was the person who mattered the most._

_You deserve to be happy, Molly Hooper._

_What do you need? You._

It really did not do good to think of it. Things were different now, she was different now. She wasn’t some lovesick girl in the lab trying to ask the posh boy to coffee. Her job was going great and she was getting married. Well, someday. Perhaps after Tom actually committed to moving in, and definitely when she’d get around to setting a date. It wasn’t just Sherlock who’d been distant, lately Tom seemed a bit absent as well and it should trouble her more and yet she barely noticed the absence until she realized she wasn’t having to go the pub on the weekends much anymore and had more time to catch up on medical journals and telly. Tom was her fiancee, so why wasn’t it his distance that bothered her so?

She didn’t want to really ask why, fearing deep down she knew. Had known for months. No no, best not blow one’s life up when one needed a wedding date.

Perhaps Mary sensed the sudden shift in Molly’s mood, because then she clucked her tongue and picked her coffee up again.

“Well, perhaps that’s enough dredging up some of the past. Didn’t mean to bring up any awkward or unpleasant feelings. But speaking of awkward we should actually talk dresses. That way when Sherlock interrogates me none-too subtly about our morning together I can at least be somewhat honest.”

“Why would he interrogate you?”

“Why indeed?” Mary said, doing a rather solid impression of the detective in question. And Molly did her best to add it to the ever growing list of things to not ponder about.

“So bridesmaid gowns. Your reception is garden-themed?”

“Yep, found the most darling orangery in Bristol for the reception, perfect for August. I’ll email you the website, the gallery doesn’t do it justice. So I’m thinking sleeveless and the colors are lilac and a light yellow.”

They continued walking along South Bank, and Molly turned her thoughts away from clever and not-as-clever boys and towards the issue at hand.

“Well, lilac would make sense for the bridesmaids since it’ll make your dress pop more in pictures. Which by the way, that wedding dress is fab! Since it’s a late summer wedding, maybe tea-length or just short of. But Mary, are you actually serious about the whole ‘wear your finest garden party hats’ thing?”

“Completely. I’m only getting married the one time, why not do it in the most British way possible?”

“Please don’t tell me your ring-bearer is a Corgi or something?”

Mary just chuckled.

And just like that, a fine friendship was cementing between one Mary Morstan and Molly Hooper.

 

***

 

Sherlock Holmes had begun to trust Mary, think of her as a friend even, until that night when she dealt him a feast of betrayal...and Sunday roast. She’d promised him Yorkshire pud and served it up with a heaping side of quiet discomfort on his end.

“Oh John, pass the wine, please?” Molly chirped up, reaching out across the table with a smile.

Ah yes, Problem Number One.

As John went to pass the bottle, Tom, aka Problem Number Two, reached out with his longer arms to grab it and pour for Molly. She cooed her thanks and took a less than delicate sip.

“So then, how’s the wedding planning going? Not too long now, right?” Tom asked, trying to be polite.

Sherlock picked at his salad like it was the most interesting thing, trying in vain to ignore conversation with the second-hand interloper. It wasn’t fair really, to be judge Tom so harshly, but Sherlock didn’t care. Not when a watered down doppelganger of himself was idly stroking Molly’s lovely hair and pretending for all the world like he gave a fig about the impending Watson nuptials.

This is exactly why he did not do dinner parties, unless there was a body.

“Oh getting on two and half months now until the big day, and honestly I’m sure it’ll all be fine. We have the best mind in England on the case, isn’t that right?” Mary said with laugh, swinging her gaze to Sherlock. He didn’t know how she did it, but one day he was going to harness her powers for good and set her loose on Mycroft. Big Brother wouldn’t stand a chance again that infernally amused grin of Mary’s. Maybe Mycroft could be his plus one to the wedding.

“Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and wedding planning services. Just saying, mate, I can always add a new page to the blog. We could probably make a fortune on themed weddings,” John added, joining Mary in on what Sherlock could only assume was ‘taking the piss’ as the kids said.

“You do know I have the contact information and details pertaining to every single aspect your wedding and if I so chose could have it cancelled on a moment’s notice?”

“Oh Sherlock, if you did that I’d have to shoot you,” Mary said, lips twitching. For some reason, Sherlock got the strange sensation she was only half-teasing.

“I think it’s sweet really, Sherlock being so involved. It’s a ton of work and someone with a highly methodical and logical mind is almost perfect for this sort of task,” Molly added, his sweetest defender even still. Whereas it might have made him feel a small amount of comfort in the past, now it just made him feel the empty thing forming inside him more and more.

“Only almost? Then I suppose to be really perfect at it requires a certain amount of actual feeling and emotion.” John added.

“That’s not what I meant at all, I’m sure Sherlock cares.” Molly replied, pressing her lips together.

“I’m sure I’m also sitting right here and quite capable of defending myself, Molly,” he drawled, and then regretting it instantly the moment she visibly deflated a little in her chair.

“Sorry I just think everyone forgets you’re still human sometimes, even you.”

Her words were quietly spoken, but everyone heard it as if it were a shout. There was a rather awkward moment of silence before Mary shook her head and put on another big smile.

“Well speaking of weddings, how about you two? Should we be saving a particular date?” Mary asked brightly to Molly.

Sherlock wondered if he could convince John to just break up with her then and there and move back to Baker Street. This woman was supposed to be his friend, right? She had to know how incredibly and deeply awkward this was for hi…

No, how would she know? It wasn’t like anyone, least of all Molly herself, knew he even cared about her. Had missed her. Felt her absence more and more each day he kept himself self-exiled from her side. Mary could read a lot of things more than most, but there was no way even she could guess his feelings or she had the best poker face he’d ever seen.

“Ah well, no rush really, right Molls?” Tom said, putting an arm around the back of Molly’s chair as she took a hasty sip of her wine.

“Yea, I mean work’s been busy and I have a review with Mike coming up to talk about my career goals and if I’m going to make Consultancy in the next couple of years I really got to focus and get more pieces published.”

“Haven’t you finished that ‘Science in Deduction’ piece yet?” Sherlock asked surprised.

Molly shook her head.

“Started some notes but it sort of requires the subject in question to be more available and not a ghost.”

“I suppose things get busy with the living,” he replied, lamely. He hadn’t realized his absence had also had mild professional implications for her. Surely she could just pick another topic?

“So it would seem,” she answered quietly, but the words might have been an ice pick stabbing him with every syllable.

Whatever was tension crackled more between them, even John noticed it and quickly interjected.

“That’s great Molly, you might end being the youngest pathological Consultant in Bart’s history at this rate,” John said.

“Gosh that’d be lovely, we’ll see. It’ll be a lot of work.”

“Well, sounds like I don’t need to buy a new cocktail dress any time soon, but do keep me posted,” Mary supplied, getting up to check on dinner.

“Oh definitely, thanks.” Molly said, weakly.

For someone who was, for all intents and purposed, a bit of a control freak when it came to other aspects of her life, it surprised Sherlock to hear Molly hadn’t set a date either. From the color in her face and the shifting in her seat while talking about it, he’d downright guess she really didn’t even _want_ to talk about it.

Interesting.

“Well at least now you’ll have more time to help our Baker Street Boys here on case, though it’s been awhile since they’ve come to visit you in the morgue, I hear?” Mary asked.

Damnit to hell, this woman was just serving up course after course of betrayal. That was it, he was leaving shortly. After pudding of course.

***

At some point, it seemed whatever reason for Sherlock to avoid her had vanished because suddenly he was at her lab asking for help with John’s stag do. It was rather sweet really, a pub crawl based around crime scenes. Creative, unique and definitely perfect for them. For Sherlock Holmes, that was about as affectionate as he got. She had a feeling though John wouldn’t get it, but at least for whatever her opinion counted, someone thought it was brilliant.

It was also so very Sherlock to want to calculate getting pissed to precision, and she wondered how they’d end up. What took her off guard was his uncharacteristic attempt to initiate small talk, asking about Tom. She was surprised he even remembered his name considering how poor Greg was everything but his actual name in that big, glorious brain. Perhaps it was because it was so strange an occasion, she had decided to ruffle his feathers a bit with the whole “having quite a lot of sex” thing. If there were two things that seemed to make Sherlock Holmes downright out of his depth it was engaging in idle chatter and carnal relations. And she’d hit him in both regards. Truth be told, it was a bit of lie; she and Tom hadn’t done the do in ages, and it didn’t particularly bother her. If anything it left her more time to catch up with sleep or binge on _Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries_. It didn’t seem to bother Tom much either, but then he rarely spent the night at her flat and she had noticed he had taken his toothbrush home the last time he actually stayed over. It was probably the opposite of what two people engaged should be doing. But she ignored the issue. She did that a lot those day.

She had to force herself not to chuckle at his uncomfortable “okay” in reply to her remark as they got down to working, doing the calculations. It felt so good to work together again, to have the comforting norm of science flowing between them. She had missed him, and hoped whatever had kept him away has resolved itself. She really ought to have been thankful for the distance, it gave her time to breath and be happy.

_You deserve to be happy._

Problem seemed to be, what often made her happy was more this right there than a night out at a loud pub with a man who didn’t really even understand the difference between Specialist Registrar and Consultant.

But she loved Tom, enough to say yes to marriage, and he had been there during a hard time in her life. She’d see the course through.

But first.

“And remember, no pissing in wardrobes. But if you need to be bailed out, you know my number.”

“Your faith in your own math is quite lacking, Molly.”

She shot him a look, but couldn’t hold a straight face.

Sherlock had joked with her, and him smiling back in that warm, half-smile of his when he truly meant it was wonderful. Perhaps dying really had been good for him. So after sending him off armed with everything he needed to program into his phone and a wish of good luck, she expected a quiet night of crisps and swooning over Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

And then the text messages began.

_Mooooolllllllllllly. This bloke tried telling me I don’t know ash. I know ash! You know I know ash you read my blog! No one else understands. - SH_

_Molllyyyyy I think the maths were off. This is your fault!- MH_

_It’s only gone 9 whaaaaaaat back on the lash, Molly Hooper, you better pick up if I gotta call later.- SH_

_John says I need to leave you alone but I don’t wanna. Molly. Molly. Beer is evil.- SH_

_Maybe have case. Maybe need you. Always need you.- SH_

She stared at her phone for a long while as the messages rolled in, wondering if it was possible her math was wrong. Either that or Sherlock was the lightest of weights when it came to drinking. Or, more likely, John was spiking their drinks with something stronger. Turning her phone to Do Not Disturb, she eventually went to bed trying very hard to not think about that last sentence and doing a very bad job at it.

In the morning, she had a few more texts.

_Apologies for last night. Our math was off.- SH_

_Please disregard everything.- SH_

_Delete these, in fact. Delete it all. - SH_

 

She sighed, looking in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Heaven forbid he have evidence that sometimes he was more than a big mind walking around in meaningless flesh. And now another thing to not think on too much, that he had texted her when his inhibitions were lowered saying he always needed her, whatever that meant.

“Enough of that, Hooper, you have a dress to buy.”

Not a wedding dress of course, but a cute yellow floral number for Mary’s wedding. It would go nicely with the colors and the theme, and she had some yellow ribbon she could use to make an obscenely large bow in her hair, per Mary’s request. When she said garden party, she clearly meant it.

As the weeks passed and the day came for her to wear the dress (with a sensible sweater of course) she watched the scenery go by as they headed to Bristol in Tom’s car. He looked quite nice in a suit, and things were looking up. Her review with Mike had gone well, she had more milestones ahead of her to goal towards, and life was feeling more on track. She was in such a good mood she was considering a cheeky shag or two on some fine bed and breakfast sheets. It _had_ been a while.

Then of course, her mood was tested by seeing the very pretty maid of honor, Janine, standing and taking photos of Sherlock. It was unfair, Janine had been lovely the few times she’d met her and Mary for drinks and she was the sort of who seemed totally at ease with herself. In some ways, it made Molly a little jealous. She could control many things, but her confidence was always a tricky one. And it wasn’t really Janine’s fault she felt suddenly a bit sour seeing her standing next to Sherlock outside a church, with Sherlock looking so bloody fit in his tux as well.

There had been a camera flash, and she hoped sincerely the photographer hadn’t caught her expression. The next time the photographer came around she was all smiles and a cute kiss on Tom’s cheek. When she turned to go find her table, she could have sworn she caught Sherlock towards the back of the room glowering at her, but perhaps she was imagining it.

The wedding had been lovely of course, and Mary looked incredible. John was really lucky, as they all were to have such a fab person in their lives. The reception however, went about as well as one could imagine when Sherlock and attempted murder were involved. He had done smashingly though, not just solving the crime (although honestly, meat dagger? That’s the man she was going to spend her life with?) but with his speech. Oh, it was definitely not traditional but for Sherlock...well, Molly really hoped John appreciated and understood how hard that had been. He had been worrying over it for weeks, hell, she’d been worrying over _him_ worrying and initiated a phone tree for weeks around it. Lord, the telegrams! But he had navigated his way through even if it was taking a lot of his focus to get it right. She knew he had been nervous. She was fairly sure she was the only one who realized this. Perhaps that’s what had moved her so when his speech ended, when John hugged him.

Sherlock Holmes had proven himself to indeed be the best man John Watson could have ask for to see him through. And because of that she would keep mum that she had more or less figured things out before him as the murder went, though she did have to keep her chuckle at bay at Greg’s midget theory. But then she had a feeling Greg was more humoring Sherlock than actually puzzling it out. Well, John and Mary at least could say their big day was truly memorable.

And that waltz! God, how pretty. How could anyone think the man a machine when he was capable of such lovely music? It was one of the few times he let go of being so technical. She was so mesmerized by his playing, and clearly so was Janine. They’d been thick as thieves all day but she’d figured out during drinks before dinner that Sherlock was apparently assessing prospects for her since the best man was clearly off the menu.

And then they were all dancing, oh what a night indeed, but it didn’t escape her that Sherlock was making a solo exit. Once, she’d have probably run after him but things were different now, and she would wager he needed some space. It was hard really, feeling like the odd man out. Tomorrow at breakfast she’d sit with him, make him feel less a third wheel since it had looked like Janine pulled another bloke. Good on her, really.

And so she danced, giving herself a few more hours of happiness before the evening well and truly went to absolute and utter shite.

It had seemed like it would end so well too, she was feeling warm and floaty from the dancing and champagne, Tom did look quite good in a suit, and as she was feeling rather saucy upon returning to their room when she was suddenly doused with a cold splash of reality when he announced he had to head back to London. Right then.

“Are you serious? It’s half ten! Can’t it just wait until tomorrow? And how am I going to get back or did you forget you were my ride?”

“Molls I said I was sorry but this client meeting is huge and I need to be there really early to prep. And you could hitch a ride with your cop friend or Mrs. Hudson, right? The train station isn’t far either.”

He grabbed his bag and tossed it on the bed, beginning to pack as she paced around the room, growing more and more ticked off.

“Really? The fucking train?? This was supposed to be a mini-holiday, Tom! I mean Christ, when was the last time we even spent a night together?”

He went and threw some clothes in his bag, huffing. Oh, he was going to be annoyed at her now?

“It’s not my fault you spend most of your time with dead people.”

“It’s my job!”

“I know and this is mine! What is it they say, all’s fair in death and taxes?”

“That is not what they bloody say!” she said, toeing her shoes back on as he finished packing his bag and walked out the room, and she followed him down the hall as they quietly continued to argue. This was supposed to be a nice break, time to reconnect, and he was spoiling it. Someday she would look back and realize she was being a tad unreasonable, but right now she was livid.

“Look what do you want me to say here?”

“That you’ll stay.”

“I can’t!”

“Oh so then what’s going to happen if they need you for some big meeting on our wedding day? ‘Sorry Molls, duty calls’?”

The gravel of the garden crunched under her heels. It was bloody cold outside, but she was too mad to notice.

“And when will that be? You aren’t exactly setting a date,” Tom asked flippantly.

“Oh and you suddenly care? When are you moving in then, Tom? Don’t think I didn’t notice your toothbrush missing.” she said, waving her arm and he stopped in his tracks, spinning to face her.

“Look Molly, I just… I need some space.”

“Space? We’re engaged, Tom. If you had any more space as is you might as well be in bloody France!”

He sighed, frowning.

“Look, we’ll talk when you get back. I have to go.”

“Talk? I think we’ve said all that needs to be said,” she murmured, fighting back tears as she fidgeted her ring off, slapping it to his chest.

“Molly, come on, don’t.”

“Goodbye, Tom.”

He shook his head, pocketed the ring and left. He didn’t bother staying, didn’t bother to fight for her. She hadn’t expected him to, though. The gravity that had kept them orbiting around each other had worn too thin, the momentum dying down.

And that was that. Her engagement ending at a wedding of all places. She should feel panicked, probably she should go after him, or apologize come Monday.

She was not going to do any of those things, and that told her everything she needed to know.

Tom had been lovely, they’d had a lovely time together, but in the end it was clear that wasn’t enough for either of them and the signs had been there for a while. It would be easy to blame Sherlock’s return, but something had always had her hesitant to fully jump in with him. And the most telling moment had been hours before, when she watched John and Mary waltz to their first dance. When she should have easily pictured it as her and Tom soon doing the same and she couldn’t. She couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it. Because he was not the person that deep in her bones she could see having that sort of dance with. It wasn’t his face she pictured.

With a shiver, she trudged more through the garden and ripped the yellow bow from her hair, shaking it loose. No one needed to know what happened, she’d make excuses in the morning and buy herself a day or two more of distraction. It was John and Mary’s weekend, not hers to turn into a pity party. At least everyone was still on the dance floor or passed out or she thought, as a waft of tobacco smoke scented the air. Fuck, almost everyone.

Of course he was there, tucked almost out of sight on a narrow swinging bench under an ivy-laden arbor. He would have heard and it would have been _him_ of course. Instead of turning and tucking her tail between her legs she marched over to him and sat down next to him.

He shifted, as if to hide his cigarette.

“Sherlock, I really don’t care right now that you’re smoking, don’t worry.”

He relaxed a fraction, hesitantly bringing it to his lips.

“You look...nice,” he said, looking her over and speaking the sort of pleasantry that should have came earlier in the day. Had he even spoken one word to her today before now?

She tilted her head back, sighing.

“Sherlock, please don’t feel the need to make small talk,” she tilted her gaze at him, her lips quirking up a bit, “It’s really not your area.”

“Touche, Molly Hooper.”

He took a long drag and dammit, even when he smoked he looked so posh. She wrapped her arms herself, rubbing to bring some warmth back. It had been stupid of her to forget her sweater but it was hard to be sensible when one was suddenly ending their relationship. She heard Sherlock shifting again, louder this time, and was surprised to see as he shrugged himself out of his coat and draped his Belstaff over her shoulders. It was warm and smelled of him, cologne and tobacco. God, it was nice.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, clutching on the lapels as she burrowed into the coat. It was almost like a hug.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked down at her feet as she kicked them off the ground, sending them swinging slightly. This really wasn’t his area now, but in times like this he was always honest with her and right now she really didn’t need to be coddled. A stiff drink and to stay in bed for two days, but not sweet, soothing lies.

“Would it be bad to say I’m upset but not exactly heartbroken?”

“You’re entitled to feel how you feel, I’m certainly not going to judge. From what I’ve seen relationships tend to really be more about a shared place to leave your stuff and if Tom couldn’t even manage that I’d say he was quite lacking.”

Molly snorted.

“He was normal though, you know,  I thought that’s what I needed.”

“And he wasn’t?” Sherlock asked, his words carefully drawn out.

Molly shook her head. And here was another conversation she’d been skirting around for months and never thought she’d have, but perhaps she was bit too keyed up and tipsy to care anymore.

“He was lovely, really nice. Treated me well all things considered. There really was just one problem with Tom.”

“He isn’t me.”

“He doesn’t really love me.”

Their words overlapped each other, much like that morning in Baker Street when he invited her to solve crime and she’d thought he meant dinner. And much like then...

“What?”

“What, sorry, that’s not…”he began, tossing his cigarette to ground and putting it out with his foot anxiously.

“Well, top marks to us both I suppose. I did see it you know, squint a bit and he looks like you. It’s why Meena set us up at first, thought it’d be an ice breaker. I was furious of course, thought she was making fun of me. But he was nice and I suppose it gave me what I needed at the time. We did love each other, but maybe we weren’t really in love, just the idea of it.”

And there it was, the truth she’d tried to contain and ignore all this time. Funny, it felt like a relief to say it out loud finally.

“Seems like a lot of hypothetical feelings for him to ask you to marry him, then.”

“Well, I suspect he was thinking it was the proper thing to do when you aren’t getting any younger. Maybe it’s why I said yes. I thought it would fill some sort of gap in my life, and no I don’t mean replacing you, you smartass,” she said, elbowing him gently.

It was something for him to think the problem was him, or that Tom wasn’t him. They really had never had proper time to discuss her feelings before the day on the roof but he clearly understood them enough to come to his current conclusions. What surprised her was that he seemed to think they were still present, despite Tom. Either he was egotistical, had gotten far more perceptive with feelings, or was hoping for it to be the case. Maybe it was all three.

“I won’t say anything, if you’re worried. I owe you a lot, Molly, and for once I can keep my smartass mouth shut.”

He smiled then, the real smile, the smile she was growing to adore.

“You better or I’ll poison your scones. No one would blame me. Speaking of, how would you kill me?”

“Come again?” he asked startled, whipping his head towards her.

“You said you’d devised a bunch of ways to hypothetically murder your friends, so how would you do it then? I could evaluate and rank the effectiveness if you’d like.”

He blinked at her, paling.

“I haven’t thought of it.”

“What? Seriously? Are we not friends? Am I not cool enough to be included in your mental murder party?” she was teasing, but a part of her was feeling oddly miffed at being excluded. She was more than just the bloody wallpaper, for Christ’s sake! Why was she always left out?

“Molly,” he said, his voice lowering an octave in warning. Would he ever one day realize that tone gave her a thrill instead of a sense of reproach?

“Come on, you’re always in my lab and morgue with all those chemicals and scalpels. I should be the easiest kill for you!”

He winced, and his gaze at her was serious. She could feel his hand move closer to her on the bench, gripping the edge of his coat so his fingers just barely grazed against her.

“I could never imagine you dead, Molly, let alone causing it by my own hand.”

She met his gaze, and swallowed. He was so close and suddenly her mood was anything but banter.

“Why is that, then?”

She was daring him to respond, to say something, put her out of her misery.

“It...would..it’s because...you’re you.” he said, faltering and diverting his gaze. She felt the small fraction of space he put between them largely.

“Not cool enough for your musings. Got it,” she said, realizing it was a little petulant. She saw him grip at the end of the bench, and he turned his head towards hers again, his bright blue eyes wild.

“For Christ’s sake, Hooper, the idea of it is too much to bear. Don’t you understand that?” the words were rushed but no less impactful.

He had called her Hooper again, like the old days. Like he did when his guard was down. Like she did, in fact, matter the most.

“No, sometimes I don’t understand that, sorry,” she said, leaning her head forward so her loose hair fell like a curtain and concealed her face from his view. He must have noticed, because suddenly his hand, so warm, was pushing it out of face and tucking it behind her ear. She froze at the touch, her eyes slowly meeting his.

“Don’t apologize. It’s my shortcoming. Janine said it earlier, she wished I wasn’t so...whatever I was. For the first time I felt inclined to agree.”

“Well, she is pretty. Nice too. You could do much worse.”

“I don’t mean because of her.”

His hand was still loosely resting on her hair where it met the collar of the coat. She had just basically broken up with her fiancee and somehow that moment paled in comparison to the gravity of this moment.

“They’ll probably feel sorry for me, when they find out about Tom,” she began, and she could see how he flinched and prepared to move away, but she brought up a hand to lay over his, stopping him, “Like I’m a tragic spinster or something. Well, John and Greg really. Martha maybe. But thing is, I love my job. It’s great. I’m on track to be where I want to be, I have a great flat, I love the city and I like to think my work with you matters too in the bigger picture. I think I let everyone else make me feel a bit like something was missing, but truth is I was doing fine.”

“You’re always fine, Molly Hooper,” he said, with a soft smile that almost seemed sad.

He’d be fine too, if he let himself be. If he’d just find himself worth it enough.

“I know that, Sherlock, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t going to devastate me at the end of the day and I don’t want to turn John and Mary’s weekend into some unwanted ‘woe is poor Molly’ type of thing. So really, I appreciate you not saying anything. But just so you know, this barely scratches the surface of how much you owe me.”

 _I fancied you, you dolt, but I had everything else in my life too. It’s not like I expected anything to develop between us, and after you left I didn’t need Tom to make me complete either._ It was what she wanted to say, but it would be too much from the heart and he liked to think his was otherwise non-exist. She curled her fingers gently around his hand and they said nothing for a moment, just existing in each other’s company.

“I know, and I haven’t deserved you being in my life as long as you have. I’ve been, as John would say, an annoying dick to you on many the occasion and taken your friendship for granted. You are an exceptional woman and If Tom doesn’t understand that then I’d say it’s a good thing you’re not exactly heartbroken at breaking it off.”

Maybe it had been the champagne, the leftover emotion of how moved and proud she had been of his best man speech, the mild shock of promptly breaking up, and his sudden, incredibly sincere words but whatever it was, it had made her lose all reason as she promptly leaned in to close the gap between and pressed her lips to his.

It really seemed to be the oddest habit of hers, to randomly snog Sherlock Holmes at the oddest moments in life. And it was the status quo as yet again she took him off guard. But he wasn’t exactly protesting either as his lips started to move tentatively against hers. He tasted like tobacco and while it wasn’t exactly sweet it was oddly intoxicating. Her hand itched to slide through his curls and...oh, why _wasn’t_ he stopping her by now?

Carefree Molly should have kept kissing, but suddenly the rational part of her brain that overanalyzed kicked in. Damn you, Rational Molly.

“Sherlock,” she breathed against his lips, forehead still pressed to his, “why aren’t you pushing me away?”

“Wouldn’t that be rude?” he replied, a bit breathlessly.

“But this isn’t your area, right? Why are you letting me...if you don’t feel that way…”

He stilled, and abruptly shifted away from her.

“You were the one who started this, not me. Sorry to disappoint,” he said brusquely, standing up quickly.

“You didn’t...no, I’m not doing this. I’ve had enough drama for one day that’s apparently my fault.”

She scooted off the bench and reluctantly took his coat off, tossing it at him.

“Goodnight, Holmes,” she muttered coldly, quickly making an exit. Unsurprisingly, the bitter denouement of their brief kiss hurt more than ending her year and a half long relationship with a man she was going to potentially spend her life with. It figured.

“Bloody stupid curly-haired men,” she muttered, letting the door back into the hotel slam shut behind her.

 

With her out of sight and earshot, she did not witness Sherlock sliding a hand over his face, looking positively miserable. Why had she kissed him if she expected him to stop her? But he knew why she’d think he would.

_I wish you weren’t...whatever you are._

“Me too,” he murmured at the memory of Janine’s words from before, looking towards the door. He did love to dance, would have danced with Janine, because the girl he really wanted to dance with still occupied with at the time. Perhaps that was the price the of choosing cold logic over sentiment time and time again. He barely knew how to understand his heart these days; coming to terms with the fact it did exist, let alone trust himself to know what to properly do with Molly’s. She didn’t deserve that. She deserved to be happy. And maybe Meat Dagger wasn’t it, but now wasn’t the time for him to make it more complicated for her despite her curious lack of real sadness at her current situation. He was selfishly glad her relationship was over, but he knew enough of John’s dating history before Mary to know being some sort of rebound was a bad idea. Whatever he had been thinking upon his return in regards to her, would have had actually known what to do with her? Thanks to Tom, he hadn’t had to ponder it too much and he did what he did best, ignored the feelings that were proving to be difficult to contain.

He hadn’t wanted to stop her kiss, but had he been truly ready to see where it led? He’d never know, because she ended it first. Smartly so.

And so yet again, he was alone. It was not as appealing as it used to be. Perhap it was time to lose himself once more into the Game. He could not, in that moment, foresee how devastating the next pursuit would be and what it would cost him.

What it would cost more than just him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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